


I'll Be Good

by cirruss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Communication, Friendship, Gen, I love him and also my other very fucked up faves, Music, Sam Is a Good Friend, Sam is just really great, Sass, and a good therapist, and good at boundaries, trauma (past)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirruss/pseuds/cirruss
Summary: Sam got to the kitchen and flicked on the light. Yup, there he was. The most feared assassin of the last century was sitting on the counter shaking, phone beside him synced to the Bluetooth speakers in the ceiling, which were playing the forbidden song. He had a pint of ice cream in his lap, and was using his metal hand to scoop it into his mouth."What the hell man!” Sam said. “A) that's gross, and B) you don't even like strawberry."





	I'll Be Good

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for reading! Before you do though, you should listen to I'll Be Good by Jaymes Young (link below). It's the song that Bucky's listening to, and is very real.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mkMVyw-7avI

Sam rolled over and blinked open his eyes. He reached blindly for his phone, and immediately regretted turning the screen on. He couldn’t get the number into focus, but it was some single digit in the morning. Long before sunrise, and all together too early to have to get out of the perfect cocoon of his bed. But he had to pee. Ugh.

At least Steve kept his place absurdly warm. You would think with the sheer size of him that Steve would produce obscene amounts of heat, and he did, but he was also completely unwilling to let so much as a draft through the apartment. Sam sighed to himself. Steve said it reminded him too much of badly-sealed windows and walls in cheap apartments back in the day. Who did he think he was fooling? He needed to talk about –

No. It wasn't Sam's job to be Steve’s therapist. He was his friend, and that was all. Though of course as Steve’s friend, it was his job to give him shit until he saw someone. Anyone. Please. Sam made a mental note to make tomorrow a Bother Steve About His Feelings day.

After stalling for as long as his bladder would let him, Sam swung his legs out of bed. He got out of bed as soon as his feet the floor, and was out of his room before he could change his mind.

It was only when he got to the hallway that he heard it.

_ I never meant to start a fire. I never meant to make you bleed. _

The awful, terrible, strains of music that spelled the death of his good night’s sleep. If it weren't a deeply emotional and painful experience, he could have sworn that Bucky chose the times he did this on purpose.

When Sam had originally agreed to move in with Steve, it had been on a short-term basis. He was just going to stay with him until he got back on his feet: after the whole winter soldier thing, Steve had taken to calling Sam before bed every night, just to "check in and see how your day was". He would politely ask about work, and his run, and his friends, and his mom, and they would both pretend that Sam couldn't hear Steve sniffling. He would determinedly not mention the way his voice cracked. How Steve was quiet for a long time, like he was trying to commit Sam's voice to memory, to live in a moment where his best friend was safe and sound and living a happy life.

After weeks of this, Sam had asked if he could move in for a bit, because they needed to spend some bro time and he missed having someone destroy his self-esteem on runs. Before they had hung up the call, Steve had tried to casually mention that he was chopping onions, and they had both pretended that Sam believed him.

And then, not two weeks after Sam had up and moved to New York, Bucky appeared. He had refused Steve's bedroom, and Steve had been very stoic when Sam had tried to suggest that he give them some space to reconnect, so here they were. Three guys, two super-soldiers (and one super! soldier as Clint liked to call him) living in a two-bedroom apartment. And here Sam was, trying to get two idiots to go to real therapy, instead thinking that they could fix everything themselves like the bad old days had taught them they should.

_ But the blood on my hands scares me to death. Maybe I'm waking up today. _

Sam sighed again, and he could practically hear his mom shaking her head at his dramatics. She never put up with his shit, and he swore he would channel her energy as he made his way to the source of the music.

_ For all the bruises I've caused and all the tears. For all the things that I've done all these years. _

God, he fucking hated this song.

Sam got to the kitchen and flicked on the light. Yup, there he was. The most feared assassin of the last century was sitting on the counter shaking, phone beside him synced to the Bluetooth speakers in the ceiling, which were playing the forbidden song. He had a pint of ice cream in his lap, and was using his metal hand to scoop it into his mouth.

"What the hell man!” Sam said. “A) that's gross, and B) you don't even like strawberry."

This wasn’t the first time Sam had caught Bucky listening to this song, which struck a little too close to home for anyone’s comfort. Its ability to make a grown man sob in seconds would have been impressive if it weren’t so awful to watch.

Bucky looked up, and Sam could see the tears streaming down his face. The silent crying had been damned unsettling the first time, and by god if it hadn't stayed that way. Bucky gave a weak smile, putting another handful into his mouth.

"I don’t like strawberry, but you do," Bucky replied.

Sam put Think of a Way to Get Back at the Asshole on his list.

"Come on Bucky. How many times do we have to do this? I thought I had convinced you to stop."

_ Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good. For all of the times I never could. _

He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed, just kept eating Sam's ice cream and crying like a scary annoying robot. The song finally finished, and Sam breathed a gentle sigh; if it was over; he could work on getting The Asshole to sleep.

_ I thought I saw the devil, this morning. Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue. _

It was on repeat.

"Are you  _ kidding me _ . How long have you been listening to this? We deleted and everything after last time. I made you  _ cupcakes _ ."

That tore a laugh from Bucky, more strangled than normal.

"I'm streaming it. You never said I couldn't stream it."

Sam resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to alleviate an as of yet non-existent headache. He wasn’t about to show weakness when he was trying to argue with The Asshole. Action, not reaction. He turned off the speaker before the second verse could start. That one was a real tear-jerker for certain pains in his ass.

Bucky looked at Sam like he was regretting not having a spoon to throw at him. But Sam was a goddamn therapist. He could stare down a grumpy emotionally-repressed asshole any day.

"You know I'm right. That song is evil, and you should get to bed. Tomorrow I'm making both of you try another therapist, and no lying this time or I will tell Steve about the Thing."

Bucky looked stricken. "You wouldn't."

"Oh yes I would. This has to stop.” He walked over and grabbed the pint, saying "Get your hands off my ice cream and get to bed. If I'm going to wake up at 5:00 a.m. to go on an ego-destroying run with you and Steve then I need my beauty sleep." 

Bucky slid off the counter, looking anywhere but Sam. "It keeps coming back and coming back and I can't stop it. Just like I couldn't then. At least if I listen to it I did it to myself."

"Listen, I wish I could make it go away, and I know that this feels like it helps in the short term, but sitting by yourself and reliving your trauma isn't helping you move forward. We'll get you help, and we'll make it something you can control without hurting yourself. In the meantime, let's get you to bed. If it gets bad again you can come wake Steve or me up. And you know I was joking about needing beauty sleep, with all this.”

He gestured at his face, grinning at Bucky, who took a beat before he started laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

"Okay. Whatever. Get to bed. It’s not that funny Asshole."

Sam gave his best effort at pushing 260 pounds of frustration out of the kitchen. Bucky stood his ground just long enough to prove that he couldn't move him, and then took a quick step forward. He turned and caught Sam as he tripped, looking more smug than he had any right to, the cheater. 

"I swear to god Barnes if you do not get on that couch right now you will not like what happens next."

Bucky looked unimpressed, but walked over to perch on the couch nonetheless.

"What, would I not like you when you're angry?"

"Shut up and go to sleep,” Sam said. “I'll win this fight in the morning."

Bucky scoffed and lay down on the couch, making a show of pulling a blanket over himself and turning away. Sam knew it wouldn't last; he'd never seen Bucky manage to stay on a piece of furniture for more than a minute, but that was a problem for another night.

Sam closed his door and got back into bed, settling in to the still-warm covers. He smiled to himself, glad that he could help the people he cared about, loathe as he was to admit it. He was drifting off, thinking about which therapists he should sic the Big Dumb Idiots on next. He had yet to find anyone they who they couldn’t convince that they were healthy as horses or scare off. Sam rolled over, trying to convince himself to worry about it in the morning, when all of a sudden it hit him.

Fuck.

He had to pee.


End file.
